


Sanctuary

by orchidbreezefc



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 10:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20424359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchidbreezefc/pseuds/orchidbreezefc
Summary: Jon has been attacked, and is in desperate need of help. He has nowhere else to go.





	Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

> Man, sometimes a Tumblr concept gets ya and you don't come to yourself or move until you have a thousand words!! Sometimes you're not even in a writing phase but you arise from your fugue state with a whole ass fic!!! Life comes at you fast.

Elias is not used to knocks on his door, let alone at this hour, and he is doubly not used to them not being on his radar. He would have, should have, Seen almost anyone coming--which means he should probably be expecting Peter. He sighs and prepares for the worst, the most inane possible waste of his time, as he goes to open his door.

He discovers he was not, in fact, prepared for the worst.

The worst is this: Jon, half hanging from where he is supporting himself on Elias's doorframe. He is bruised and battered; blood cakes the side of his face, diluted in lines which track tears he hasn't bothered to wipe away. His clothes are torn in the long, straight swipes of claw marks. Even if Elias cannot Know anything about Jon at his current level of strength, it doesn't take any superhuman ability to feel the fear coming off Jon in waves. He's shaking almost too much to maintain his white-knuckled grip on the doorframe staining red from his slippery fingers.

He might be in shock, provided he is still capable of such. Even if his wounds have healed--it is difficult to tell under all the blood he has shed--his emotional reaction alone probably would have done the job. His wide, desperate eyes have a glassy quality to them, and they are fixed unerringly on Elias, unsettling and carrying the breathtaking flaying-open quality Elias has only experienced as a purely religious experience. Even like this, he's so much more powerful than Elias would have ever dared to dream.

Then Jon sways forward and stumbles into Elias's arms. Elias is so stunned, still having said nothing, that he barely foresees the movement enough to catch him.

"Jon," Elias breathes, holding Jon out from his chest, just far enough to get a proper look at him. His abject horror and concern are swept away by pure, blinding rage. "Who did this to you?" he asks, his voice quiet but trembling with the effort to keep it that way.

"The Flesh," Jon mumbles. His voice is rough and agonized, so obviously wounded that it completely cancels the euphoria Elias might have expected from hearing his lovely voice after over a year away. "I was--hunting--" The word sounds like it could choke him, and he seems like he wishes it would. "I got careless. It found me." He tears his eyes from Elias for the first time, and the way Elias feels a pressure lifted so that he can breathe again disgusts him. "I didn't know where else to go."

Elias's heart breaks, and fury floods in to fill the crack. "You made the right decision," he assures Jon, gathering him against his chest and crouching enough to hook an arm under Jon's knees. Jon's arm loops weakly around Elias's neck as he is carried to the bedroom. "You're safe now. I'll take care of it."

"Take care?" Jon asks faintly as Elias settles him over the duvet.

"Yes. You won't have to worry about the Flesh anymore. I'll wipe their every last acolyte off the face of the Earth, mark my words."

Jon does not appear to be comforted, squirming slightly. Elias settles a hand over his chest as he tries to sit up. "Stay here. I have a first aid kit, we'll take care of that first." Jon's eyes are fixed on Elias again, and the instinctive, primal fear is as comforting as it is familiar.

Jon, of course, is probing at his own wounds and hissing in the resulting pain when Elias returns. The man is incapable of leaving well enough alone. Elias could not have asked for a better Archivist. Elias pushes his hands away from his injuries and ignores Jon's weak token complaint as he rids him of his shirt and trousers.

The wounds are not as grave as one might expect given the blood, but they are not entirely healed either. Jon says nothing as Elias cleans away the blood with a washcloth, only grits his teeth at the disinfecting process. The shallower bruises are clearing up, but the gashes Elias imagines will linger for a while yet. He bandages them all with utmost care.

Elias provides Jon with a fresh set of clothes, a little too large on Jon's skinny frame. Jon's hands prove too shaky for the button-down even when Elias eases him up enough to get it on his body, so Elias sits on the edge of the bed and does the buttons for him. The trousers are a bit more difficult--Jon grunts in pain every time the fabric catches on a bandage--but they manage.

"I wish I had pyjamas for you, but I'm afraid I'm not the type of man to bother with all that," Elias says softly.

"So what, you sleep naked?"

A corner of Elias's mouth quirks up at the returning--_personality_\--of Jon's. God, but he had missed this man. "No. I don't often sleep at all."

"Of course not," Jon mumbles.

Elias helps Jon under the duvet and finds his hand to squeeze. "Rest. Whatever attacked you is still out there, and such things need to be dealt with swiftly. I'll be back soon."

"You're doing it yourself?" Jon asks, his voice noticeably higher pitched.

Of course. Elias wouldn't trust anyone else to deliver the kind of pain the Flesh has so thoroughly earned. He wouldn't let anyone else have the satisfaction of making it pay in the way it deserves. "Some things need to be attended to personally," he says. "If you want something done right, and so on. Sleep, Jon." He smooths Jon's hair away from his face, still a little stiff with blood. A shower is due once Jon has rested.

As Elias gets up to go, Jon catches his wrist. "Please... don't go."

It's not compulsion that loops around Elias's neck like a noose, like a leash binding him here. Jon is much too weak for anything like that. It's not even the look of panic in Jon's eyes. It's that Elias could never, and moreover would never, deny Jon anything, let alone such an impassioned plea.

He lifts Jon's hand to his mouth. "Of course. Whatever you need, my Archivist."

Jon's eyelids flutter a little at that, and he turns--painfully--to curl into Elias like he's trying to absorb his heat. Elias wraps his arm securely around his Archivist and decides he will settle for making a few phone calls once Jon falls asleep. There will always be later.


End file.
